#I should get one and I want to but goddamn some of them are expensive!

[daytaker]

Hi! I'd Like to request something for obey me. So MC is an Artist Like Semi realistic or so and then they draw the brothers and themself all together Like some Kind of Family Photo for maybe a sweet gesture to appriciat them, what would the reaction be?

First of all, that's adorable. Second of all, yes, absolutely.

Everyone

The immediate question on everyone's mind is where it should be put. The suggestions are fairly predictable. Beel wants it in the kitchen. Satan wants it in the library. Belphie wants it in the observatory. Asmo thinks it should go in his bathroom, and he acts amazed when his brothers disagree.

You'll probably be the one to suggest making some copies of it if they like it so much. That way they can all have one. The brothers all like this idea, so you head off to the Devildom equivalent of a FedEx store and make some quick copies for everybody.

Eventually, the original work will find pride of place above the fireplace, where everyone will get plenty of time to admire it, including guests. The brothers are all very proud to explain to them that they have a very close friend who's an artist, thank you, and they made that piece of artwork up there for them, for free, because they love them all so much. What do you mean it's too small for that big of a space? Clearly you don't understand art, they'll tell the guest. Satan smirks; Levi rolls his eyes; Asmo whispers something to Mammon and they both start snickering. Real mean girl energy.

Lucifer

It's proved to be more or less impossible to get a photograph with himself and all six of his brothers, so this is an immediate hit with him. Plus, you're in it, which makes it even more valuable. He wonders why he didn't commission a painted family portrait earlier. It just hadn't crossed his mind, he supposes.

He'll buy a very nice and expensive frame for the picture and have it professionally mounted on a backboard. Only a museum quality display will do.

He enjoys looking at the artwork now and then and mentally noting all the details he likes. You captured Mammon's smug smile perfectly, and somehow Levi looks happy, but still like himself. Of course, his favorite part of the picture (along with you, of course) is himself. He thinks he looks very dignified, and he appreciates that you placed him in the center; the true patriarch of the family. Besides that (though he wouldn't bring it up unprompted), he thinks you made him look very handsome, and he likes the idea that you see him that way.

Mammon

You put him next to you?! I mean, of course you did! He's your number one demon, right? Obviously he belongs right next to you! He'll point out his positioning in the picture to his brothers often enough that they've gotten past feeling annoyed about it and just tease him for simping so openly.

He thinks it looks a little bit like you're smiling at him in the picture. You're not. You're staring into the 'camera', just like everyone else. But he tells himself that. He has another copy of the picture made where he cropped out everyone besides the two of you. He keeps it in his sock drawer so he can pull it out when he's by himself and admire it. Lucifer has walked in on him lying on his back and holding it up, staring wistfully at the picture, often enough that he can tell by how quiet it is when Mammon is either sleeping or staring at that goddamn picture of his again.

Speaking of extra copies, he also made some more to try and sell at RAD, but, shockingly, cheap copies of a picture of someone else's family didn't sell well. Diavolo bought one though, as did Simeon. Yeah, maybe it wasn't exactly ethical to try and capitalize on your artwork, but, well, come on, he's in it, and you gave it to him, so that kind of makes him the owner of it, right...?

Leviathan

He's pretty sure he's not breathing right now. That's... That's how he looks? To you? He looks....amazing....!! Look at his smile! His jawline! His glossy hair! His cheeks, touched with color---!!! You must think he's... like....... Ugh, it's stupid, like, who even cares? Nobody, that's who. Nobody except him. He cares. And he wishes his stomach would settle down a little bit before lunch explodes onto the rug. So he'll just take his copy of the painting, clutch it to his chest, and giggle to himself as he slinks off to his room while everyone else stands admiring the painting on the mantlepiece.

Now, to really study this thing. He lies in his bathtub and squints at the painting. He realizes, to his dismay, that all his brothers look extra hot in this thing too. Hrmm... But, whatever! The important part is that he looks amazing! His eyes are shining, his skin looks healthy and smooth, and.... well.... he doesn't look like somebody it'd be weird for you to be into, maybe. Maybe? Possibly.

He's pretty shy around you for a few days after you give them all the picture. He's not really sure how he's supposed to react around someone who thinks he's... h....ha-ha....handsome...???? And not just that, but the look on his face! Does he make faces like that in real life? Does he make faces like that in front of you?

He spends a good chunk of time in front of the mirror trying to imitate the look from the painting, but he can't quite get it right. He always ends up crumbling into a pathetic, groaning, blushing little creep and fleeing the bathroom. He hates himself. But he can cheer himself up with the knowledge that you definitely don't hate him, right? How could you draw someone you hated looking like... like....?!?

Satan

Knowing Satan is someone who admires art in general, you were most nervous about him seeing it. He has a tendency to be fairly blunt and honest, and you really hoped he'd just appreciate the thought behind the picture without subjecting it to any kind of critical analysis.

But of course he did it anyway. He'd expressed his appreciation just like his brothers had when you first gave it to them, but you'd often see him standing in front of the fireplace staring up at the picture with a hand to his chin after that.

Satan's initial thought, after the excitement over the gift and how cute and nervous you looked giving it to them all, is that the composition of the piece, while not particularly original, has definite visual appeal. While he doesn't particularly enjoy Lucifer's position in the middle, he understands why you put him there, both artistically and psychologically. Lucifer dominates almost any group he's in with his annoyingly hefty self-confidence. His ego is smeared all over the picture, but that's not your fault. That's just Lucifer, being awful and ruining things, like he always does.

When he finally gives some attention to how he looks in the painting, he's pleasantly surprised. He looks refreshingly like himself, but also like he's meant to be there, with everybody else. He can also tell you spent some time on his eyes. They look lovely. If you ever want to paint them again, he'd be happy to model for you. What, shy all of a sudden?

Asmodeus

Well, obviously he's the real star of the artwork. It's as if he's glowing, washing out his brothers with his effervescent presence on the canvas! Clearly, you know your art. Never mind he's the only one who seems to quite see the picture in that way.

He has his copy of the painting framed and hung up in his bathroom, where he thought the original should have been put all along. Now he never feels like he's alone in the tub! Every once in a while, he'll talk to the artwork while he takes a bath. Just to amuse himself. But when you go back to the human world, 'every once in a while' becomes 'almost every day'.

He has a theory that if someone stares into the eyes of Painting Asmo too deeply for too long, they'll fall in love with him. The painting version of him, that is. He knows that's silly, so he keeps it to himself, but he can't stop himself from imagining you mesmerized by your own painting of him, bewitched by the very eyes you painted...

Beel

Honestly, Beel is just happy you made a picture including him, his brothers, and you. You put him right beside Belphie with an arm slung around his shoulders. He's smiling more in the picture than he normally does in real life, but that doesn't bother him at all. He wants to look happy in this kind of painting.

He taped his copy of the picture to the refrigerator door. Everyone appreciates this, not just Beel, though he definitely sees it the most often. After you go home, he says good morning to you every day when he first heads to the fridge. It's a nice way to feel like you're still around.

Belphie

Wow... He looks adorable here. And you didn't include him drooling like his brothers always do when they draw him. Though it really isn't fair to compare this to the "drawings" his brothers have made to make fun of each other. Idiots...

You put him right next to Beel. That makes him smile. And he looks...like he's happy to be there. Maybe not grinning like a doofus, but like this is his family, and he's pretty okay with it.

He keeps his copy of the picture taped to his bedpost so he can look at it whenever he feels lonely, especially after your year in the Devildom comes to an end.

[eoieopda]

[svt as fuckboi archetypes]

disclaimer: don’t take it seriously. i was having a convo. with my sister about my truly tragic dating history, and now we’re all going to hold hands n process it together.

seungcheol: big “air mattress on the floor” energy. his gaming set-up is expensive and immaculate, but he’ll be goddamned if he spends a dime on — idk — a bed frame, for example. don’t sit on his chair, though, because it’s specifically angled for his lumbar-support needs.

jeonghan: the “i quit” dude at the show who still consistently asks to bum both a cigarette and a light. you’re not getting that lighter back, and he will not, in fact, “get you back” for the uber back to yours or the take-out he weasels out of you on the way. he’ll charm you out of caring about it, too :’(

joshua: it’s giving “anyway, here’s wonderwall”. why did he even bring his guitar to this party? you don’t know, and you’re not gonna ask because the answer will make you want to fuck him less, and you really, really want to fuck him.

junhui: the one that passes out immediately after sex, leaving you trapped in that “….should i…. leave? is staying…. fine?” liminal space. he wakes up in the middle of the night, wakes you up, and informs you that you chose wrong and “should probably head out” because he has to work in the morning.

wonwoo: the one that turns every conversation into a debate. you may have a literal degree in xyz, but he is serving fresh takes™️, so listen up, diva! the dick game is god-tier, though, so you’re just going to mentally replace the sound of his voice with a different muppet’s in every conversation and wait for him to shut up <3

soonyoung: the house guest!!! he’s going to miss every single hint you drop about wanting to sleep alone. he’s going to leave a sweatshirt in your drawer so he can be comfortable next time. he doesn’t do “one-night-stands”; he does residencies. hope you didn’t have other plans this weekend :/

woozi: he asks if he can say “i love you” during sex because it gets him hot, and then he later informs you that you can no longer hook up because things are “moving too fast”.

dokyeom: you’ve been hooking up for a few weeks, and now he’s babbling about wanting to go to xyz place with you at some point in the distant future. he says it like he’s deadass about it, then looks at you funny if you ask him to get drinks tomorrow night. good luck, charlie!

mingyu: the stage-five clinger. he’s never had a fuck buddy before, and it shows. he has no idea what this dynamic is supposed to be despite a) suggesting it in the first place, b) numerous conversations about it, and c) repeated affirmations that he isn’t looking for a relationship. but he’s PRETTY, okay??

minghao: halley’s comet has nothing on this mf. he dm’s you once a year, you have the best night of your life, then he is gone girl for the next 364. you and your friends have a bet going in the group chat to see how many consecutive months he’ll leave you on read.

seungkwan: the one that has never — not even once — asked you a personal question. that’s not to say he doesn’t talk; he never stops. you’ve learned everything about him (his home phone number from childhood, the names of all his coworkers + his thoughts about them), against your will. frankly, you’re not sure if he even remembers your name atp because he relies exclusively on a generic pet name.

vernon: he talks a big game about meeting up, missing you, etc., but when the plans are laid, he “fell asleep, i’m so sorry, i’m just now seeing this!! :(” you washed your hair for this? rip.

dino: the foster puppy!!! he’s an emotionally unavailable, certifiable mess when you get him. you clean him up, train him, and the second he gets his shit together, he’s off. he’s found his forever home, and he’s coincidentally getting married on your birthday. sorry, bestie!!

[iovesia]

AFTER HOURS.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. nsfw alphabet with john constantine.

—⠀john constantine⠀𝒙⠀ fem!reader.⠀|⠀smut.

warnings. size kink. dacryphilia. corruption kink. panty stealing. overstimulation. orgasm denial. humiliation kink. implied god complex. bit of mean!constantine.

josie's note . ⁺ ˖ ⌒ back on my constantine brainrot arc, so i had to whip up these little headcanons. template found here — hope you enjoy ♡ !!

#. requests are open. ⠀masterlist.⠀keanu reeves masterlist.

aftercare — what they’re like after sex?

Constantine’s not putting a lot of effort into aftercare, hate to say it. After sex, he’ll begrudgingly let you cuddle into his chest, and offer you a drag of his cigarette. Surprisingly, Constantine enjoys the occasional pillowtalk (or.. just talking at you— but his quiet, raspy voice is music to your ears). He’s more relaxed after sex and lets his guard down, and this is one of the only moments where he’ll truly be vulnerable with you.

⠀⠀⠀

body part — their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s?

His favourite body part of his, is his hands. They amplify his size kink, seeing them wrap around your neck, or cup your breasts only makes his cock twitch. He loves watching them stretch your needy cunt. Even better when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, groaning softly as your tongue swirls around his digits, and you taste your own juices.

His favourite body part of yours, is your eyes (.. random sidenote, he’s a tits guy). Constantine loves making you cry, and having you stare up at him through dampened lashes, with your desperate, doe eyes filled with tears— it’s a sight he has imprinted in his memory. 

⠀⠀⠀

cum — anything to do with cum, basically.

Not to get too graphic, but Constantine has thick cum, and he cums a lot. Constantine loves to cum on your face, or your chest. Something about seeing your innocence tainted, and covered in his cum gets him hard again. On rare occasions, he likes to cum inside you, filling you to the brim. 

“Don’t waste a goddamn drop,” he scolds, his fingers collecting the cum that dribbled out, and sliding it back into your sensitive pussy.

⠀⠀⠀

dirty secret — a dirty secret or fantasy of theirs?

This is etching into perv!Constantine territory, but he’s definitely stolen some of your panties. He’s jacked off with them, and he’s not very secretive about it, because he tells you his dirty secrets just to watch you burn in embarrassment.

He’s open to the idea of making a sextape with you, or taking polaroids of you. It’s his own weird way of being intimate with you.. almost like his own twisted version of a wedding ring— having footage of you two fucking.

⠀⠀⠀

experience — how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

This man has experience. Living and breathing demonic entities every damn day, Constantine has made his way through plenty of women.. Or should I say, succubi? Point is, he definitely knows what he’s doing— and he knows too. Constantine wants you to praise him on how well he’s making you feel, how you curl your toes only by his words, let alone touching you.

⠀⠀⠀

favourite position — this goes without saying.

He’s a little basic, his two go-to positions are doggy and missionary. For doggy, he loves pressing your face into the pillow, and having a hold on your ass as he bullies his huge cock into your poor cunt. It makes him feel so dominant, watching the way you squirm under him, unable to look at him but still beg for more.

Constantine also loves the good old missionary/mating press when he’s feeling a little more intimate. He forces you to maintain eye-contact, wanting to watch every little reaction on your pretty face. Constantine has your thighs pressed up to your chest, allowing him to thrust deeper into you, and keep you trapped under his grasp.

⠀⠀⠀

goofy — are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous?

Immediately, no. Granted, he makes a few sarcastic comments at your expense— but other than that, he’s 100% serious through sex. His brows are furrowed, and his lips are parted to release quiet grunts into your ear.

⠀⠀⠀

hair — how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?

Constantine keeps it maintained down there for the most part, but he never shaves fully. If it desperately needs trimming, he’ll trim it a little. Constantine has a very faint happy trail that leads down to his black, (slightly) curly pubes. 

⠀⠀⠀

intimacy — how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect

At the beginning of your relationship, Constantine was very poor at it. Having spent most of his life up until this point having meaningless sex, he didn’t understand why you were so.. clingy when you two had sex.

But slowly he learned— he’ll wrap his hand around yours when he’s plowing into you, or he’ll press soft kisses to your neck. Although his hips are snapping harshly against you, he tries to keep a gentle grip with his hands (cupping your breasts, or getting ahold of your waist, etc).

⠀⠀⠀

jack off — masturbation headcanon?

Before he met you, Constantine would masturbate more often, having constantly been under some kind of stress. But his dirty habits died down, because whenever he’s horny he just comes to you. 

However, some days when you’re not around, and he happens to be alone.. Constantine’s imagination runs a little wild, and he can’t help the blood rushing to his cock at the thought of.. well, you, of course!

⠀⠀⠀

kink — what are one or more of their kinks?

Cockwarming. He loves watching to see how long it’ll take before you crack, and whine and plead for him to touch you. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, occasionally clenching around his cock— hoping it’ll tease him enough to get him to just bend you over a table and fuck your brains out.

Dacryphilia and corruption. This man lives to see you cry, and sniffle. You’re just a little lamb to the slaughter, and he’s the big bad wolf. Being plagued with endless guilt and eternal damnation made you all the more appealing to him. An innocent little thing like you had no business being around a guy like him— and that’s what made it so much more exciting. You are his gift to taint and corrupt as he pleases.

Overstimulation. Tying back into his dacryphilia kink— he loves to overstimulate you. Constantine could be between your legs for hours if he had the time, pressing his hot mouth against your puffy cunt, sucking on your bundle of nerves till you came over and over again. You cry out, hand tugging at his black locks as another orgasm washes over you.

“Give me one more, c’mon, bunny.”

⠀⠀⠀

location — what are their favourite places to do it?

Again, he’s a little basic, and a private person. Constantine enjoys it the most, doing it in the bedroom, either at yours or his place. Those four walls allow you two to enter your own little world, where you can be as loud as you want, and he can be as cruel as he wants.

Anywhere else in his apartment— desk, kitchen table, couch, it’s all free game.

⠀⠀⠀

motivation — what turns them on, gets them going?

Tears. When you beg him. It gives him such an ego boost, seeing you so needy and desperate for him, and him only. He also loves praise, Constantine wants you to tell him how good he’s making you feel, and how you want him and only him.

⠀⠀⠀

no — something they wouldn’t go? turn offs?

He won’t do anything that hurts you too much. Granted he’s a bit of a sadist, and he’ll spank you, or gently slap your face— but he won’t use any knives or weapons, or anything that will greatly scar you. Believe it or not, Constantine does love you, and he already deals with enough violence on the day to day, he won’t be turned on by bringing it into the bedroom.

⠀⠀⠀

oral — (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Contrary to popular belief, Constantine is good at eating pussy. Some nights he prefers it over receiving, just to watch you slowly fall apart under his tongue . Normally, he doesn’t have an explicit preference, he likes to give and receive. When you’re giving him head, he still likes to remain in control: grabbing your hair, guiding your head and talking you through the whole thing.

⠀⠀⠀

pace — are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?

Constantine is rough, and slow. His thrusts are always so deep, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. His pace varies on how he’s feeling that day— if he’s pissed off, and taking it out on you, it’s gonna be fast and rough, and you’re not gonna be able to feel your legs. If he’s feeling particularly playful and mean, he switches up his pace just to keep you on edge.

⠀⠀⠀

quickie — their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

He’s not a fan, and prefers to hold out until you guys are back at his place. He likes to take his time with you, wanting to enjoy the full experience.

That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy the occasional quickie at Midnite’s bar or wherever else you horny lovebirds decide to get it on. 

⠀⠀⠀

risk — are they game to experiment? do they take risks? Etc.

Gonna be honest, he’s a little iffy about experimenting. Constantine likes what he likes, and he’s not as open-minded as you think when it comes to trying new things— but if it’s something he suggests, well you better hope on board with it.

⠀⠀⠀

stamina — how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

A good 2-3 rounds— Constantine can last. That man has so much pent up stress, it’s gonna take a hot second for him to let it all out. Constantine wants you to be left an overstimulated mess by the end of it all, and for him to be so relaxed he could pass out for a millennium. 

⠀⠀⠀

toys — do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

No, he doesn’t own any toys. And he gets a little offended when he finds your vibrator or whatever other toy you have lying around. His God complex is a little bruised, and now you have to pay.

He makes you use them on yourself in front of him, telling you to “show him what exactly you do when he’s not around”.

During sex, he’ll use your vibrator on your clit, only making you squirm and cry more— your sensitive cunt can only take so much! And god forbid you owned a dildo. Constantine’s more than happy to embarrass you further and fuck you silly with your own toy.

“You wanted the toy so bad, now take it.”

⠀⠀⠀

unfair — how much they like to tease?

He’s so evil. Of course, he loves to tease you! Constantine is constantly edging you, bringing you to a near climax before removing his touch, and making you lose your nearing orgasm. He rinses and repeats this cruel cycle until your waterline is brimmed with tears and you can’t even babble a coherent sentence. 

“Poor thing, you wanna cum don’t you? Too fucking bad.”

⠀⠀⠀

volume — how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

Constantine’s not too loud in terms of moaning. He groans and pants in your ear, keeping the volume to a minimum— the rasp in his voice sends chills down your spine. He’s a very loud dirty talker though, and will not shut the fuck up throughout sex. Constantine loves to degrade you.

⠀⠀⠀

x-ray — let’s see what’s going on under those clothes!

He’s hung, I don’t care, it’s true! He’s at least 7-8 inches long (and that’s not even when he’s hard.. ehem..), and his girth… lord, your poor cunt is fucking stretched when he first slips inside you. You’re so tightly wrapped around him, and your nails scratch along his back as you try and take him fully inside you.

⠀⠀⠀

yearning — how high is their sex drive?

He’s a pretty horny man, you two could go at it every night, or second night. He’s getting a little older, so his sex drive dies down after a while, but for the most part you find yourself bent over his desk, with skin slapping echoing off the walls.

⠀⠀⠀

zzz — how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?

He waits for you to fall asleep first. Like I said, Constantine enjoys pillowtalk, and will utter almost all his thoughts to you, and you can’t help but flutter your eyes closed as you enjoy his rambling. While you’re asleep, Constantine just admires your soft features, and for a second, he really comes to terms with just how much he really adores you.

໒꒰ྀིྀི ੭ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ꒱ྀི੭ — taglist : @desoolate @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers

let me know if anyone wishes to be added/removed !!

[angel-of-the-moons]

Idk how tumblr works so, apologies ig this isnt a request place.

But i was thinking poly johnny cage and kenshi x reader, where its just fluff with johnny and reader helping kenshi get dressed, bc hes blind, or something like that♡

Gods im soft for this poly relationship😫

Nahhh you getting something because ashslnsl this shit is cute as fuuuuck

Little Wonders

Kenshi x Johnny x Reader

TW/CW: None!

A/N: This is what I was talking about @crimsonbubble lol

🗡️🎥🗡️🎥🗡️🎥🗡️🎥🗡️🎥

Yet again, Kenshi ripped the shirt open to try and rebutton it. He had been at it for almost twenty minutes, now; having to undo the pearl baubles and slip them back into their holes again.

Only to find that this time, he was not one--but two buttons off and the shirt was still lopsided.

He let out a frustrated hiss and yanked the buttons free, this time snagging one so hard the little object popped out of its stitching and skittered across the bedroom floor.

Hanging his head in defeat, Kenshi felt around until he found the foot of your ridiculously large bed, plopping down and sinking into the downy soft mattress with a hefty sigh.

Kenshi could easily call Sento to him; use the magic sword to grant him his sight so he could see enough to map out the buttons, to get dressed by himself like a grown adult should be able to do.

But without Sento, he was as blind as a newborn kitten. And Sento wasn't a crutch. Kenshi needed to learn how to do things without his eyes, to adjust. Because it's not exactly subtle or publicly acceptable to carry a goddamn katana with you to a red carpet event. Which is what he had been trying to get ready for. He just wanted to wait until you and Johnny were preoccupied with swimming out some of your pre-event jitters in his pool to try, to get some of the privacy he needed to spare his dignity. He needed to learn how to do this, how to cope...

He couldn't walk around like you or Johnny without some sort of aid, couldn't dress himself properly anymore... he was damn lucky he could still feed himself without assistance.

"Oh, Kenshi..." He heard you sigh from the threshold of your bedroom door. You and Johnny smelled like the chlorine from the pool; your bathing suits had been stripped away and you both wore your plush bath robes to ward the chill off your naked bodies.

"If you'd asked us, we could have helped you, Ken." Johnny replied as well, moving to sit next to him as you began to gently unbutton the expensive silk blouse.

"You shouldn't have to." He retorted, "I should be able to do it--"

"Hush." You say to him gently, your fingers gently touching his lips to quiet him. Johnny slipped a hand around the back of Kenshi's neck, kneading the thick knots of tension he found there. His mouth twisted briefly into a slight frown when he felt just how tense he was.

"C'mon, babe!" Johnny said. Kenshi could practically hear the cock-eyed smirk Johnny had on his face. "You know we don't mind. Though, taking your shirt off is more fun than putting one on--"

"Oi! Shut it!" You snort, swatting at him before putting Kenshi's popped shirt on the dresser before pulling out one of Johnny's to put on him.

"Abuse! Abuse!" Johnny laid across his lap dramatically, feigning injury. "Oh, oh my god! Kenshi, do you hear how our lovely partner is treating me?! I swear, I should have you locked up!"

He can't help but smile, despite it all. It never failed. Whenever he was down in the dumps, dealing with his new "handicap" as he so deprecatingly referred to it as, the two of you swooped in to cheer him up, pulling a smile out of him when he thought there was none to be had.

"Hah! Like they'd believe you, you drama queen." You scoff, flicking him in his nose. "Now get up, you cry baby!"

Johnny snickered and laughed as he sat up, crawling onto the bed so he was sitting behind Kenshi, his legs spread to wrap around him from behind casually as he leaned back on his hands.

"Kenshi, hands." You hum to him, brushing a hand through his short dark hair, bringing your hand down to touch his cheek, your thumb caressing the corners of where his eyes used to be, feeling the cratered scars left behind by Mileena's sais.

He complies, his body posture softening as you and Johnny help him slip into the soft, buttery smooth shirt.

Johnny buttons his cuffs while you button his front.

"I..." Kenshi tried to find the words; anything to say to the two of you about why you shouldn't be helping him, that he needs to relearn these things on his own.

Johnny interrupts him first: "Nope." He hums, burying his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the mixed scent of his own shirt and Kenshi's favorite body wash that still lingered on his skin.

"Can already hear those gears working on your head, Ken. Stop it."

"We're a team, Kenshi." You say to him, cupping his cheeks in your hand as Johnny effectively becomes a human koala bear.

"And we aren't going to let you struggle on your own. It's not weakness to ask for help from those you love. A strong individual knows you can't survive without it."

"Without what exactly?" He sighed, relaxing into the two of you.

"Love, you fuckin' goober." You snicker, leaning down to kiss him, his stubble brushing your face softly.

If he could, Kenshi Takahashi would have cried.

[therobotmonster]

So many kid's toys these days just. Arn't fun. They're designed to be COLLECTED rather than PLAYED with. Everything is a fucking blindbag. Materials are flimsy and cheap and designs don't hold up to an actual child throwing them around. And it's all so EXPENSIVE, even accounting for inflation.

To expand on my thoughts here, I'm unrolling a Twitter thread I made about this trend. (with some additions)

The Big H's handling of mainline figs is... distressing, of late. Very little push for show mains, oversupport of already saturated legacy characters, and some frankly unsettling engineering and materials choices (esp in Cyberverse).

Increase in overall fragility, thinner parts, styrene-on-styrene joints that will go floppy in a few months of light play, very little "clicks" or locks solidly... the passion is clearly in the collector's end, and that's just bass ackwards.

This repugnus would have been amazing triumph from Mego in 1970s. But for a mainline big H TF line in the 2020s? This is a backslide. And before anyone brings up that it's from the kids' line, that's the point. They're KIDS, they should get MORE care and effort in their merch.

Every toy you make might be a kid's only birthday gift or holiday present. Toys are /given/ to children, and if the work is subpar, you make a chump out of grandma. You won't be there to blame if it breaks or disappoints.

It seriously drives me nuts seeing how far the stuff-for-kids industries have fallen. There's no brands without the work, but as the poet DMX said: "these cats done forgot what work is."

All your blockbuster superhero empires start in the pulp gutters. Compared to the movies toys, games and comics will never be profitable ENOUGH to be worth it on a billion-dollar scale ledger.

"Give me mighty oaks! There's no profit in acorns!"

If you want the stuff that makes the Michael Bay blockbuster, you have to start with the stupid goofy cartoon no one had seen before where anxiety over the oil crisis was acted out by robotic Punch and Judy puppets. How many studios would greenlight TMNT or TF sight unseen today?

If you make toys and cartoons and video games, your job is to make kids happy. How is that not sacred? If anything is sacred it should be that.

Art is the act of evoking emotion, and fun is an emotion (what else could it be described as?) and it is SO IMPORTANT.

I fear that gets lost in the "what to do over next?" rush. Every artist at those companies has a dozen amazing ideas in their back pocket that won't get a chance to become the next Transformers because a studio is terrified they'll make Jayce and the Wheeled Warriors instead.

Since the world is run by Captain Planet villains, I wouldn't bat an eye if we found out venture capital was a ploy by some disgruntled warlock who just hates the goddamn Care Bears.

Just some dick at Bear Sterns singing "There's no room for joy on a spreadsheet" to a weaselly sidekick.

Cuz guys, we've got companies that make GAMES for CHILDREN hiring the Pinkertons. I repeat. Games. For. Children. That's not normal. That's not a normal thing. That is a very disturbing thing.

And its hard to even discuss without sounding like a frickin' Care Bear myself. Because how do you sum up the creeping dread that the support beams are being mined thin, and everything fun for kids will go the way of Toys-R-Us, dragged down like Artax.

I'm not advocating pure altruism here. There's plenty of money to be made giving kids an awesome experience. It's investing in future fandom. Real Brand loyalty. If you want the blockbuster 15 years from now, get them hooked on the fun cartoon now. The value-add always pays off.

For every Transformers or He-Man there's going to be several Robotix-es or Power Lords. That's a risk. A risk worth taking. New ideas should be easier and cheaper to bring to fruition now than ever. But the system won't let it happen.

[arachnoia]

avoiding | miguel o'hara

miguel o’hara x nb reader drabble

a/n | hey loves! first thank you so much for all the support on my last post, it means a lot!! I just made this as a drabble because I couldn’t sleep !! enjoy 😭

warnings- miguel acting a lil soft? reader is a spanish-speaker and understands what miguel tells them, sfw fluff, random drabble that sol came up with at 2 and it's a tad bit rushed &lt;3

————————————————------------------------------------------

“alrighty but that movie was literally life changing and amazing,” hobie said, motioning the characters in said movie he went to go see with pavi, miles. and gwen.

“oh my gosh yes. but i hated how the ending was “to be continued” like are you seriously telling me that i spent 2 hours just to be slapped with ‘to be continued’ LIKE-“ pavi stopped himself before he could start yelling about the ending and sipped his chai.

gwen glanced at you and smiled sadly, “you should’ve came with us, y/n! hobie was treating us to popcorn.”

“ahem. my guy STOLE the popcorn.” miles said, rolling his eyes while pointing to hobie.

“hey, i don’t believe in paying for that because it’s the movies and technically we should be treated to that popcorn nevertheless. tickets are expensive as it is,” hobie countered.

“no, it’s okay! i needed to handle an anomaly in some other universe with jess and peter. it was really sudden but it’s fine,” you sighed as you stretched your arms.

“i’ll get going now. bye guys!” you stood up from the cafeteria table, waving to your group, and started route out of the cafeteria.

you haven’t felt this tired in such a long time. it’s been almost 4 months since you’ve join the society and all you have been doing are missions on top of missions.

not even gwen or hobie get as many and they’ve been here longer

what’s the worse thing of it all? (except having to deal with all the back pain?): having to face him.

who’s “him”? miguel o’hara.

as a regularly optimistic person, you rarely would feel nervous to talk to anyone. that is until you met miguel and would freeze up if he was within a 25ft radius. hobie would especially tease you about it since all you knew was to say infront of him were “yes sir”, “okay”, “mhm”, and “alright”.

that was in the first week and it was actually fucking embarrassing. that was until you began forming a friendship with him which lead you both to turn pretty close.

but then he started sending you on extra missions and he started avoiding you.

although it stung, it pissed you off since you already had a job in your universe as an editor at the Daily Bugle and now this? it also turns out avoiding him as well didn’t stop him from sending you on every goddamn mission available, which pissed you off even more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“hey o’harararara! how’s your day been goin?” you said as you swung up to his platform. teasing miguel has been apart of your daily routine now.

“what’s up now n/n? it was alright,” he sighed as he zoned into the ministers infront of him.

“i’m telling him he needs a break but he won’t listen to me so you tell him,” lyla whispered, popping up out of thin air.

“c’mon o’hara. necesitas un descanso, estupido,” you said, grabbing his shoulders from the back of his seat.

miguel looked at your reflection on the ministers and you swore you saw a smile creep onto his face.

“let me finish this one thing and i’ll take a break,” he said as lyla looked at you two with a stunned expression.

“I told you, he likes you better than me.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

as you tried to make your way to the restroom to splash water on your face, hobie popped up from your side and taller you on the shoulder.

“hey n/n, miguel wants to talk to you.”

oh fuck.

“oh? for what reason?” you asked, not hiding the clear irritation in your tone and on your face.

“he didn’t specify but he wanted me to call you over? said it was deeply important,” he said in a serious tone before he busted out laughing hysterically, leaving you startled.

“oh my gosh n/n, you should have seen the look on your bloody face, man! it was fucking hilarious-“

“what’s hilarious?”

you and hobie turn around to see the person you’ve been talking about.

hobie hugs you and lets out a hearty laugh, “oh boss, it’s nothin. I was just joking here with n/n about something very strange.”

yeah, miguel o’hara is pretty fucking strange alright.

miguel’s face turned from stoic to confused (and a little mad? hobie couldn’t tell) quick, earning a smirk from hobie, “n/n?? who the hell is n/n?”

“oh it’s my dear friend y/n over here! she’s amaz-“

“claro que sí. anyways y/l/n, i need to speak with you later. meet me in my office,” miguel said as he went back to his stoic self before his exchange with hobie and left.

“holy shit I did not mean for that to happen-“ before hobie could say anything else, you patted his shoulder.

“no. it’s whatever. i’ll see you around hobie,” you said as you left hobie there, bamboozled as to what the hell just happened.

———————————————————————————-----------------

you marched to his office after every spider left and stood there, an old and familiar feeling of anxiety settling in your stomach.

what were you going to say? what did he want to say? what was going to happen? was miguel going to fire you?! you didn’t want to be fired you loved this job, even though you’re tired of the extra missions. then you felt your heart pang

your thoughts were interrupted when you heard someone talking.

“y’know as someone who has to see you two all the time it’s sad not seeing you guys interact. plus you were too shy to go actually talk to her!” that was lyla? who’s she talking about? was she talking to miguel or margo? what?

“i know and i miss her too but like i haven’t felt that way about a person for such a long time, lyla. you know this.” yep that’s miguel but who’s “her”?

all these questions were going to be answered until you accidentally sneezed and everything went silent from the other side of the doors.

“I think that’s her, miguel. maybe you should go answer. I think you should-"

“yeah I know, lyla. thanks for your assistance you can go now,” miguel said, running his fingers through his hair and sighing.

“y/l/n, you can come in.”

you rush into the room and take a deep breath.

“listen y/n-“

“no, o’hara, YOU listen. I think I need a break from all of these missions. I don’t know what’s going on because I know for a fact that missions haven’t been increasing in general. they’ve only been increasing for me and I don't like it how you're avoiding me and-“

“i’m sorry.”

he’s what?

you stared at him confused as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. you could practically cut the tension with a knife.

“pues quieres que lo repite de nuevo? I’m sorry. I just-“ miguel stopped and looked to the side.

lyla popped out again and rolled her eyes. “what he’s trying to say is that he’s sorry for sending you out and wants to give you a break…”

“-and didn’t want to get attached because he started to grow some little sparkly feelings for youuuu!”

“AY WHAT-“ before miguel could react properly, lyla left, giggling in the process.

“sparkly feelings? no sabía que eso era que sentías por mí, o'hara,” you said, chuckling a bit. you felt like this couldn't be real.

you also swore you saw miguel turn a little red.

“pues si, I mean I didn’t-“

“-want to get attached? I get it, miguel. and it’s fine because I know what you’ve been through and it’s okay.”

you went over to hug him. you felt bad and and miguel turned as stiff as a rock.

“supongo que también siento ‘sparkly feelings’ por ti, miguel,” you whispered. you didn't know what came upon you but it felt fun to tease him a bit. you couldn't believe how miguel o'hara could be nervous because he likes you.

"hm. interesting," he said, chuckling a bit and letting go. "i'd recommended to get some rest now. tomorrow's going to be a long day for you, n/n."

you froze and glared at him. "i thought i was getting a break? the hell happened?" before he swung and left his own office, leaving you confused as hell as to what just happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

translations -

supongo que también siento ‘sparkly feelings’ por ti, miguel | i guess i also have those 'sparkly feelings' for you too, miguel

pues si | well yeah

no sabía que eso era que sentías por mí, o'hara | i didn't know that's how you felt about me, o'hara

pues quieres que lo repite de nuevo? | well do you want me to repeat it again?

claro que si | yeah of course

necesitas un descanso, estupido | you need a break, stupid

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Cookies (feat Gun)

Goo and Gun at the bakery for you

Goo loves you, y'know.

It has sorta become a tradition that when one of you is ill, whatever the ill person want, the ill person gets.

And you're there on your deathbed, head full of cold, with a craving for cookies. Not just any cookies, the ones from that extra special fancy little bakery you just love.

So here Goo waits.

With Gun impatiently by his side, wishing death upon Goo and death upon you because at least he would never be dragged into these mundane bullshit situations again. Why the fuck is he here when there's minors to cripple and hospitalise? Seriously, jesus fucking christ-

"Next!"

Disregarding Gun's grumbles, Goo shuffles forward and rocks excitedly back and forth.

Just one more person to serve, and then it's his turn! Only, Goo checks his watch, 5 minutes until close and there are loads left! Well, not loads loads, but there's more than a dozen. Surely enough for you and for the customer in front-

"I'll take the whole lot, please!"

What the FUCK!

"HEY!" Goo lunges just short of the aforementioned customer, "YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"

After paying and receiving her bag of goodies, the little granny with kind eyes amplified by round glasses, smiles up sweetly at Goo.

"I'm so sorry young man. I'm seeing my family today and want to share these with my children and grandchildren. I absolutely love this place and have been raving about it. It's been so long since I've seen them so I thought I would bring a treat. Ever since my husband died-"

Goo stands there agape, seeing red as she rambles on. Who the fuck cares, you just bought all the fucking cookies.

Respect your elders? He swears he will sock that old bitch in the mouth. He hopes she and the rest of her whole family chokes on those delicious cookie crumbs!

"YOU OLD HAG-"

Gun immediately clamps a hand around Goo's idiot mouth and holds him back.

With Goo struggling in his arms, he gives the friendly granny a polite nod as she waddles away with her bag full of baked goods; blissfully ignorant and not knowing how close she was to getting slapped by an irate blonde.

.

.

Outside the bakery, the sun is shining, there's a gentle autumn breeze, and the evening is beautiful.

Goo doesn't feel the sun. He doesn't feel the breeze.

The sun is shit and the breeze is shit and the evening is shit. He lives in darkness now, he doesn't deserve your love, he can never be happy again.

Dejectedly cradling his bag of crap, he wonders how he could go home to face you, his beloved. He bought what he could, some deliciously sweet and overpriced monstrosities, but it's not a cookie.

Really, Goo should thank his lucky stars that the main cause of grief in his life are goddamn fucking cookies. But.

It's still not a cookie. It's not what you asked for.

What if your sniffly nose and sore throat took a turn and you're dying? What if you're actually dead right now and the last thing you wanted was a cookie and he couldn't do that for you?

"Hey," Gun elbows him, snapping him out of his distress, "Look."

Literally standing a few metres away appears to be a father and daughter. He's wiping crumbs from her mouth, and- what's that in her hands?! Goo's eyes hone in on her little bag of cookies like a hawk.

"KID!!" he screeches, jumping over and crouching down to her height as she stares at this funny, weird man.

"How many cookies you got left?"

She peers into her bag, takes her time counting, then holds up four fingers, "Four!"

"How about I trade you this," Goo opens his bag of baked goods, "For your cookies?"

The little girl shakes her head, pigtails following the movement.

"Kid, don't you know these are more expensive." Another shake, "AND SEE! Icing! Sprinkles! Don't you kids love icing and sprinkles?"

The little girl shakes her head once more and Goo's eyes bug out.

For fuck's sake. Gun pinches the bridge of his nose, considering punting the kid or Goo, whoever is closest.

Whatever.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring Goo, who is on the verge of tears and a mental breakdown, Gun opts for the logical choice and approaches the father instead.

"This guy," Gun points at Goo, now wallowing pathetically on the ground, "Will give you 100,000 won for those cookies."

Seriously?! Just as Dad is about to say fuck yes, he takes a step back and eyes them up. Their impeccably tailored designer suits, their excrutiatingly expensive watches, their general aura of 'fuck you' money-

"500,000."

Gun shrugs, it's not his cash, "Deal."

Heh, suckers. Dad squats down to his daughter. With the experience of being on the wrong end of a screaming tantrum one too many times, he promises toys and TV time and whatever the hell she wants, in exchange for the bag of cookies.

Obediently, and with a peppy smile, she hands them over to him.

Dad holds the bag out in one hand to Gun, and pointedly, his other cash-less palm.

Gun nudges Goo, currently rolling around forlornly on the floor, with his foot, "Pony up, you fucking moron."

Holy shit, Goo could kiss Gun right now. Goo springs up in joy.

Finally! These motherfucking cookies!

Is that the warmth of the sun he can feel? The refreshing breeze? And isn't this evening magical-

Hold the fuck on. Unwelcome clarity slams into him. Five hundred fucking thousand won?!

With tears in his eyes, Goo digs out his wallet and forks over the cash.

[cube-people-fandom]

Before I say this I need to assure that I adore so many of the things on the qsmp and am very thankful for the admins putting in so much work (though they should be working normal hours and getting paid for it).

Gonna be honest though, there are definitely things that probably cost a fuck ton of money or take so much effort for the people putting it together that really isn't necessary, CERTAINLY not more necessary that the admins' livelihoods.

The full animatics every time a lore related thing happens? Unnecessary. I don't know how they're creating those things but they LOOK expensive and very time consuming. Maybe instead, an npc can give the information during the event, instead of having to make a whole extra video. Or even, film your lore videos in actual minecraft and just show the clip instead of the fancy camera angles and such.

The puzzles at every lore event? Look....some ccs like this sort of thing, but it seems like a lot of work to create for something most of them aren't all that interested in

Speaking of, lore events themselves do not have to happen so often. The amount of times one has happened that I've come out of feeling...underwhelmed? Don't hype something up and keep your poor creators and mods and even fans up wayyy too late just for it to be unnecessary. Sure, learning new information is good, but how about everyone just finds it out in their own time instead of them (usually French ccs or those in similar time zones) having to stay up til like 3am for nothing.

Maybe don't require so many ccs to do stuff together. It makes a lot more sense to have just 1-5 ccs at a character specific-event than the Whole Server

Like, it was pretty immersion breaking to establish a "stealth mission", and then have the entire server go to it.

And, of course, the infamous Disliked lore event: that goddamn MAZE. Don't make the event, or even GETTING to the event tedious or frustrating

Not to be totally negative though, examples of events I really enjoyed: festa junina, Halloween, DIA DE LOS MUERTOS. I find my favourite lore usually isn't one that happened during an "event", because its impossible for good roleplay when there's so many people there. I feel like there needs to a separation of "this cc wants to do some story roleplay" and "we want to have what is basically a party in minecraft"

[marvel-ous-m]

*another installment of Modern Elementary School Steddie AU* *TWs: Hospital visit, medical scare*

It’s a rainy Friday in March when everything goes to shit. They’re coming up on Steve and Eddie’s 6 month anniversary, and Eddie’s using his lunch break to browse some potential weekend getaway spots. They can’t go too expensive- they’re both living off of a teacher’s salary after all, they can barely afford their living expenses, plus Valentine’s day just happened and they went a little overboard with a nice dinner- but Eddie had picked up a couple extra shifts at his old shop over the last few weekends while Steve was busy grading papers and lesson planning, so he had a little money set aside to treat Steve to something special. 

Eddie’s just about to press the ‘reserve’ button on an AirBnB in Chicago for the weekend when Mike Wheeler and Will Byers walk into his library holding hands. 

Unaccompanied.

And Mike looks like he’s been crying. 

Eddie stands from his chair and circles his desk, crouching in front of the two boys. “Hey guys. You should be doing…” Eddie searches his brain for a moment, trying to remember Steve’s schedule for the kids. “Math problems right now, right? Does Mr. Steve know that you’re here?”

“He told us to come here.” Will sniffs, and Eddie notes that he looks on the brink of tears. “He stopped teaching and then turned all the lights off and then sat down and then made us come an’ get you. ‘S he gonna be okay?” 

Eddie tries very, very hard to keep the panic off of his face. He honestly has no clue what’s going on, but he doesn’t waste time trying to figure it out. “Let’s go make sure. Good job being safe by coming here together, boys.” Eddie walks out of the library with them and down the hall- and goddamn why was Steve’s classroom so far from the library?!

Finally, after the longest three minutes of Eddie’s life, they make it to the classroom and Eddie finds a dark classroom of quiet kids sitting politely at their desks and Steve sitting at the front of the room, his forehead against the metal of his teacher’s table. Eddie clears his throat, smiling at all the kids. He needs to check on Steve, but if something is seriously wrong, he knows that Steve wouldn’t want the kids to see it. “Alright everyone, line up, we’re gonna visit Mr. Argyle’s 2nd grade class. C’mon, hop to it.” 

Argyle teaches across the hall, so Eddie figured it would be fastest to usher the kids across the hallway to him. He gets them all in a line within a minute (which is probably a world record for any elementary school anywhere, but he doesn’t exactly have the time to parade his accomplishment around at the moment). Argyle accepts the kids without question, having them all join him on the carpet at the front of the room for story time. He must see something in Eddie’s expression because Argyle waves him off the second the last kid steps into the classroom.

Eddie’s back across the hall in a heartbeat, kneeling next to Steve and brushing some hair out of his face. “Hey pretty boy. What’s goin’ on?” 

Steve lets out a low groan, shaking his head slightly against the table. Eddie sighs in response. “I need to know what’s wrong so I can fix it, babylove. Can you give me any direction? Is this a need-a-break-for-30-minutes thing or a need-to-call-the-paramedics thing?” Eddie sends a quick prayer to whatever being is listening that it’s not the second option. 

Then Steve unfurls his fist that was previously clenched in a fist and holds up two fingers, and Eddie’s stomach drops.

He uses Steve’s phone to dial Nancy’s extension, petrified of letting Steve out of his sight. He tells her it’s a code red and that she needs to come to Steve’s classroom pronto. Steve doesn’t complain about anything, like, ever. They were making dinner one night about a month ago and Steve cut his hand open on a potato peeler and laughed it off- then kept laughing it off as they went to urgent care to get him stitches. 

Eddie meets Nancy in the hall- reluctant to leave Steve, but also conscientious of not freaking Steve out as they go through the motions of getting him help. Nancy’s got her cell phone out and she dials for a paramedic first, then texts Johnathan to let him know that his afternoon library session had to be canceled. They both wait with Steve in the dark of his classroom until Nancy gets the call from the front office that the ambulance arrived. She stalks off, returning five minutes later with four paramedics and a stretcher. 

Eddie is pushed out of the way- and fuck, he hates having to stand by and watch, chewing at his fingernails as he sees the gaggle of paramedics speaking quietly between themselves and making Steve respond to questions and open his eyes for them to shine a light and check his pupils. Then they’re loading him on a stretcher, and everything starts to go by too quickly for Eddie to process.

Eddie blinks, and he’s in the back of an ambulance, his hand wrapped around Steve’s ankle- the only spot Eddie feels like he can touch without messing with wires, but he’s desperate to hold onto something. To show Steve that he’s here. 

He blinks again, and Eddie’s standing at the doors to the emergency room, staring at the doors through which they had just taken Steve, the doors through which he was not allowed to follow.

Another blink and he’s sitting at Steve’s bedside, head in his hands while Steve takes a medically-induced nap next to him. He’d been taken in for scans- MRI, CT, XRay- Eddie wasn’t sure, he got the letters mixed up in his panic, all he knew was that they scanned his head because his pupils weren’t dilating correctly, then took his blood to run some tests, then put him to sleep because he had thrown up from pain and had begged for them to turn the lights off.

Which, Eddie hated the image of Steve feeling that way. He could barely stand it. But he was glad that the nurse had told him- because seeing Steve wheeled back to the hospital room asleep had scared Eddie in an entirely different way. 

Steve woke up about two hours after he had been returned from his scans. He was groggy, but had reached for Eddie almost immediately and said that he was feeling a lot better, which made Eddie’s heart rate go down to a semi-normal bpm (in comparison to the previous extremely high heart rate- his anxiety was a bitch). A doctor joined them a few minutes later and Eddie held Steve’s hand as they got the update. 

Steve had a migraine, which the doctor explained could be chronic- Steve would need to speak with a neurologist about that. The emergency room doctor said he suspected it was due to head trauma and was latent until something knocked it into presenting itself. And that’s how Eddie found out that Jonathan Byers, 5th grade teacher, once beat up Steve when they were teenagers to protect Nancy Wheeler’s honor? Which... it was a very confusing timeline, not aided by Steve’s exhaustion, but Eddie made him promise that they would talk about it in detail when Steve was feeling better. 

Then Steve confessed to getting in a bar fight with a guy that happened to be Max Mayfield’s much older step-brother, where he had a beer bottle smashed over his head (a story which Eddie also couldn’t follow due to Steve’s current condition, and also made Steve promise to tell again when he was feeling better). 

Then there was a story about Steve getting punched by a Russian guy who was mugging him a year or so ago- which, how does that even happen? 

Then Steve finished off his recounting of his head trauma history by sharing that he’d slipped on some ice at the bottom of the stairs of his apartment complex about a month ago, and that the back of his head had hit the bottom step when he fell. He apparently didn’t think much of it at the time other than that it hurt like hell (which made Eddie have Steve promise to tell him anytime he got hurt- because things like this couldn’t keep happening). 

After recounting all his concussions, the doctor handed them a referral to a neurologist and had a nurse get them discharged. Eddie took Steve back to his place that night, unable to let Steve out of his sight. Steve was exhausted from the day, and in Eddie’s opinion, rightfully so. Eddie helped him get changed into sweats and then changed himself into more comfortable clothes. Finally, after they were both settled in Eddie’s bed, Eddie wrapped himself around Steve and kissed Steve’s forehead, watching his boy sleep the day’s stress away. Nancy gave them both the rest of the week off, knowing that Steve needed the rest and Eddie needed the peace of mind.

The two went to the neurologist that weekend and, after some more tests, Steve was diagnosed with chronic migraines due to multiple traumatic brain injuries. He was prescribed a daily medication, a preventative medication in case he began to feel a migraine coming on, and some high-strength pain medication to take if a migraine happened. He was also given strict orders to avoid any activities that could cause further brain injury, as that could lead to results that, for Eddie’s own health, were best not to talk at length about. 

Their anniversary money ended up getting used to offset the costs of the specialist visit and medication copay, and they ended up spending their 6 month anniversary curled up in Eddie’s bed while Eddie read Steve The Hobbit, but if the experience taught them both anything, it was that they didn’t need fancy trips out of state or five-star dinners to celebrate their love- the most important thing was just having time with each other, because they could have lost that completely, and they were never going to take that for granted again. 

Taglist: @goodolefashionedloverboi

Drop me an ask if you want to get added to the taglist or if you have any ideas/questions about this series!

[kyber-crystal]

reverie || bradley “rooster” bradshaw

summary: arguing with rooster in the rain. :) what could possibly happen? you definitely won’t kiss in the midst of a storm. right? right???? unless...

words: ~1.1k

warnings: brief mentions of violence, angst, cliche rain kiss. raining on the beach kiss (ok mayb this is even more romantic but i’m 100% here for it) also some swearing

a/n: MY FAVORITE FIC TROPE OF ALL TIME. i knew i was due for a rooster fic with the classic rain kiss scene, so here we are!!

“Echo. What are you doing out here?” 

You turned around to see a rather calm-looking Rooster standing by the dock.

“Leave me alone.”

Rooster sighed, and started making his way down the wooden steps. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Fine. You want to talk? I’ll give you a talk, you self-sacrificing, reckless, overconfident piece of shit. You’re insane. You’re fucking insane!” you yelled, stepping away as he stepped towards you. You’d never been this upset before, but you were very pissed now—and for good reason. “You must’ve been out of your goddamn mind. What were you thinking up there? What if you were a second later? What if you hadn’t shot them down in time? What if you had gotten yourself killed?”

“Y/N…” he began. 

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me,” you snapped. “Your recklessness could’ve cost you your life. You don’t get to waltz your way back to me like this after almost dying, after you passed out on me while I was patching you up. You don’t get to act all calm and collected when you scared the shit out of me!”

“Y/N, it’s raining.” Rooster glanced up, and gestured to the umbrella over his head. 

You shot him a glare. “No shit, Sherlock. It’s raining bullets.” 

“And you’re going to get sick, so we should head back inside. Come on.”

“I’m not fucking listening to you!” you shouted over the storm. The rain splashed beneath your shoes, soaking your pants and making your feet go numb. He was right—you were going to get sick later—but you couldn’t care less.  “Especially after you pulled a dangerous stunt like that.”

“Don’t make me ditch the umbrella,” he called out. “It was expensive. Hangman got it for me last Christmas. He’d be very pissed.”

“Go ahead! I don’t care.”

He released his grip on the umbrella, letting it clatter to the wet sand by his feet. He started walking towards you. 

“I told you to leave me alone, Bradshaw.”

“You must be crazy if you think I’m gonna let you stand out here by yourself. If you’re going to freeze, it’s better not to do it solo.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then I guess you’re gonna have to find someone else to care about.” Right as Rooster was about to reach for your hand, you shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Y/N, please.” The rain was getting even worse now, and you were pretty much having to scream over it. Your throat was already feeling sore. “Let’s go inside and talk this out. Okay?”

“Y/N, please,” you mimicked his tone, making a face at him. “I’m not taking any requests from you. Not anymore. You want to know why?”

“Please enlighten me. I’d love to know more.”

“Because you’re reckless. You’re crazy, and what you’re doing is gonna get you killed one day. That’s what I’m scared of. You dove in headfirst and put your life on the line without considering the consequences. I lost thirty-nine hours of sleep waiting for you to wake up from your stupid mini coma. I lost my mind waiting for your signal to come back online. I lost my sanity, I’ve had to lose so many things already and I swear to God, if I also have to lose you—”

You forced yourself to look away, feeling tears slip down your face. You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, but that did nothing—it only further mixed them with the rainwater. “I almost lost you. I can’t lose you, Bradley, don’t you understand? I can’t lose you, because that means I’d be losing the one thing that means more to me than anything else I have in my life. The most important person in my life, and that’s not a loss I can afford. I love you and I can’t lose you that way.”

You’re shaking, and you don’t know why. Maybe it’s because it’s raining cats and dogs and you’re soaked in ice-cold water, and you can’t stop crying. Maybe it’s because he’s standing so close and the feeling makes your stomach twist itself into knots. Maybe because you just professed your love to your best friend and you don’t know how to feel about it. 

“Sweetheart, please don’t cry. You know I hate seeing you cry,” Rooster said quietly. He brought a gentle hand up to your cheek and you let him stay, because you had no energy left to push him away again. Fighting him was hopeless; he was too good at flying and wrestling for you to stand a chance.

“I almost lost you,” you repeated. Your voice broke as the first strike of thunder hit and illuminated the sky in a bright flash. You bit the inside of your cheek and swallowed hard. “My worst fear almost came true.”

Rooster tilted your chin up and this forced you to look at him. Why is he staring at me like that? You’re completely drenched at this point and your clothes were soaking his, but he paid it no mind. His gaze slipped down to your lips and you felt a shiver run across your skin at the motion. He was breathtakingly handsome, you noted, even while freezing and with messy hair plastered to his face.

“It’s really cold, Rooster.” You could feel your voice slipping away over the whipping winds.

“I know.”

“It’s really cold, and I just admitted that I’m in love with you.”

“I know.”

And then he kisses you. Or you kiss him—you don’t remember who initiates it but you don’t care because you didn’t bother to. It doesn’t matter; all that matters is you’re here and he��s here and his lips are so utterly warm and soft against yours. His body feels comforting and familiar and you melt into him as the rain continues cascading down your backs. You’re plummeting through an electric blue expanse of sky and into the stormy waves below and he keeps you from drowning in the infinite abyss. You want to keep breathing him in until you can’t take any more, because he’s reached you; touched the deepest depths of your heart with the full intention of staying there, burying himself in places no one has before and you want to hold on to that forever.

“I love you too,” he murmured against your lips. “Always have, always will.”

tags + ppl who might like this!: @thespeeder @n3ssm0nique @itscheybaby @bakersbucky @takenbymakkari @straightforwardly @ctorrey64  @rentskenobi @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @valorax @lifeisfullofupsanddownsliveit @sarcastic-sourwolf @ice-mans-world @burnedbrisket @fangirlinc @marveljunkie45 @knowledgefulbutterfly @levis-butterfingers @organabanks @coastingline @skylynch03 @chaoticassidy @hbstre @fantasias-creativebubble @mercury-mae @light-the-moon @winteryoungie @aie1840 @thisismypointofview @worldsoldestpizzaslice @minivture @i-wish-everything-would-be-okay @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @lyn-lc @lunamooncole @americaarse @totomoshi @ginervacade @life-is-an-oof @slickdickwitchbitch @luvmunson @dilfilm @wanderingmaximoffs @ryugujii-ken​ @callsignroosterr​ @vitanileon​ @catertotshitposts​ @itscheybaby​

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas

Summary: how timetraveling Vikings would react to modern Christmas/what they enjoy/etc.

Tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added to any of my taglists!)

Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!

Ragnar

I think Ragnar likes modern christmas more than he should

He takes it like many non-christians do nowadays – fuck Christianity, i’m getting presents

Might let Athelstan drag him to church

Leaves midway tho

So bad at gift-giving that he accidentally gets you a great one

Lagertha

The BEST gift giver

Has a little table (after you show her how excel works, obvi) of the people she wants to get presents for and tracks their wishes over the course of a year

You need her at Christmas, actually

She doesn’t like the Christian part of it, but she likes the community it creates and GODDAMN Lagertha makes some good food

Athelstan

Vibes to church service HARD, even in modern times

Big enjoyer of WHAM! And Mariah Carey

Makes small, but very thoughtful gifts

Definitely always gets sick around Christmas and wears a bundle of scarves

Please don’t let him shave his head weirdly, or his brain will freeze

Bjorn

Doesn’t like Christmas

He came to the future, you have planes, let him use them

Spends his Christmas in warm places

Honestly, he might enjoy Aussie Christmas

Any excuse for beaches and bbq

Ubbe

If you want to stage a great Christmas celebration, go to Ubbe

Despite being from Viking times, he will be able to organise it better

He likes bringing people together for any occasion, and will be decorating the venue he chose like a PTA-mom with rabies (so, quintessentially, Ubbe)

Does not let snowy grounds stop him from playing football with friends/brothers

Hvitserk

LOVES Christmas

An endless supply of cookies and chocolate? Are you kidding??? The christians got something right?????

Eats everything you leave lying around

On time for everything during Christmas

Honestly, he gets hilarious gifts for everyone

Surprisingly good at singing christmas carols

Honestly, Hvitserk makes friends in all religions so his year of exquisite eating is just

Easter -> Eid -> Midsommar -> Thanksgiving -> Hannukah -> Christmas

Rinse and repeat baby

Sigurd

Spends the entire time critizising the compository value of christmas songs

Has an enemies to lovers arc with them

One day, soon after Christmas Eve, you will find a slightly drunk Sigurd in front of a karaoke machine with a thousand yard stare and the best interpretation of Last Christmas your ears will ever hear

Ivar

Christmas is a capitalist venture for the foolish designed by greedy christians

Totally does not buy super expensive gifts for his friends to brag

That Tesla outside your door? That’s not a Christmas gift silly, he’s sending you down the frozen road as a sacrifice to Odin so his bleeding ears might be saved from Sigurd

Does make an effort to put his mafia-ventures on hold for you though

He still hates Christmas

Floki

HATES CHRISTMAS. Floki hates Christmas so much. Did he already say he hates Christmas?

Hates it so much he secretly loves it.

‘Annoyed’ at Helga for baking cookies with you

‘Annoyed’ at the celebrations and people coming together

He secretly enjoys the non-Christian part of Christmas

But he just can’t get over the Jesus being born thing

Celebrates the part of Easter where he’s dead for a few days

Helga

Loves Christmas, and without shame

Turns into a cookie factory

Handmade gifts for everyone

Does a lot of charity/social work around Christmas

Enjoys ice-skating rinks as well

Tells Floki to stop moping around (he does)

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day seven!)

(it’s been a whole week wow look at you go :0)

(read them all here!)

it’s been a week since you started serving dynamight his afternoon coffee, but it felt like it’s been so much longer.

not in a bad way, of course. it wasn’t boring (that’s the last thing you’d call it) and it wasn’t tiresome to deal with the pro, either, which, frankly, surprised you, after googling him one night and finding out that, along with being the number one hero in japan, was also the number one most tiresome in japan, with an explosive temper and sharp words that could cut through steel.

but, every day, at 4:56pm, a different kind of smile appeared on your face as the door bells chimed their happy little chime and a tall blond lumbers in. he always looked so out of place. expensive-looking clothes and a tall frame in a humble coffee shop with mostly old people in nameless clothing. today was also one of those days.

“good afternoon.” you greet, already ringing up his medium black coffee. “what would you like?”

“you’re not gonna believe it.” he drawls sarcastically.

“medium black coffee for dynamight?” you grin. dynamight nods, before pausing.

“no, make it for bakugo.”

“bakugo?” you repeat, editing the name on the computer. bakugo scoffed.

“yeah. ‘m sick and tired of hearing my hero name right now.” he grunted.

“how come?” you ask as you take the bills he held out, pulling out the cash drawer to give him his change.

“more fuckin’ reporters that want interviews.” he replied sourly.

“must be exhausting.” you say sympathetically as you hand him his change and he goes to sit down at his barstool.

“can’t fuckin’ stand them.” he huffed as you pour his coffee, watching you closely.

“it’s part of being a hero, i guess.” you shrug, sliding him the steaming mug.

“that’s the part i hate.” bakugo took a sip of his coffee and seemed content with it.

“i’m a hero. i beat the shit out of villains for a living. why the hell should i be doing some god-awful interview when there are still goddamn villains out there?” he spat. he had a point, there. frankly, you weren’t completely sure of the answer yourself.

“i guess it’s all for publicity.”

“that’s exactly what it’s for.” bakugo seethed. “and i hate it. i don’t give a shit about any of that stuff.” you figured. in every interview video you’d watched of him, he was absolutely and completely grumpy, and very clearly not wanting to be there.

“you’re pretty high on the popularity rankings, though,” you point out. last you’d checked, he was number two. bakugo only scowled. sore subject. deku was number one.

“second. to deku.” he spat.

“do you intend to beat him in that area, too?” you ask curiously, indeed wondering whether his rivalry with deku would expand into a realm that he couldn’t care less about.

“…i dunno.” bakugo answered after a moment. “if i did it’d be easy as hell.”

“would it?” you reply, amused at his answer. he was grumpy and short tempered, definitely the best way to be if you want to be the most popular hero.

“i’m second without even trying.” bakugo retorted. “don’t give me that skeptical shit.”

“you’ve got a point.” you hum.

“i’ve always got a point.”

“that you do.”

“and i’m always right.”

“uh huh.”

“quit giving me that tone!” bakugo barked. you could practically see the irk mark. you only laugh.

“sorry, sorry, i’ll stop.” you raise your hands in surrender.

“you’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?”

“you love me.” you grin. “and you’d be stuck without coffee if i wasn’t here.”

“fuck off. this isn’t the only place i get can get coffee, y’know.”

“but it’s the only place you can get it without being bothered by the paparazzi.” you counter. bakugo scowled. you were right.

“shut up, dumbass.”

“admit it.”

“hell no.” bakugo finished his coffee. “i’m done anyway.”

“leaving so soon?” you smile.

“yeah, well, i got shit to do.” bakugo replied.

“number one hero shit?” you clarified.

“yeah, number one hero shit.”

“no, make it for bakugo.”

<- previous next->

(feel free to comment + leave ur thoughts :)

[moosemonstrous]

I never write in the second person, but it seemed to fit, so 🤷

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - Yegor Ivanov's edition

Say, you're in charge of security on a large, well-appointed quasi-military base housing twenty thousand people - mostly J-techs and their families, but also a sizeable assortment of soldiers, scientists, medical staff, relief workers and support crew. It's the most stable job you've ever had. The general populace is just so grateful for the giant robots you deploy to fight the ever-nastier demons crawling out of The Breach, you barely have to pay any attention to actual security part of it. Your subordinates haven't reported a single issue they couldn't deal with themselves in years. The eggheads fight between each other to secure your approval. You have the respect of the international leaders for keeping Hong-Kong off of their priority list. Somehow, in this beautiful, messed up world you managed to carve yourself out an existence most people can only dream of.

And you got there by making a hard decision once, ten years ago. Eli Morrow was a dangerous psychopath and once his usefulness ran its course, it was your responsibility to put him down. Sometimes, one man has to pull the trigger for the good of the many, and that day you pulled the trigger. Figuratively. It was a regrettable situation, but you don't really regret it, because you gave Eli every chance under the sun to pull himself together.

You said it broke your heart, to see what he did to his brother, but secretly you were relieved. You've done many terrible things together, before the monsters stopped being just men in a different uniform. You had a good handle on Eli for so long, you almost forgot that rabid dogs will bite their master's hand given half a chance. If it hadn't been poor Alberto, it would've been you.

You didn't believe for a second Beto's kids turned up on base purely by accident. Call it fate, or karma, or whatever you want, you can't pretend seeing a mirror image of a young Eli in your own damn hangar doesn't strike a chord deep in your chest. It's not a pleasant sensation.

You have no idea what their mother told them - she was smart enough to get out before all hell came loose, so maybe she was also smart enough to keep her mouth shut. The younger one is a non-issue, at least. You forgot he had the--the whatsit, some condition the medical was working on, the hook you had on the Reyeses to keep them on base. You should dig into the files, see if the same hook will work on the older one.

And you need all the hooks you can think of, because you fucked up. You panicked and figured, well, he doesn't know his old man's jaeger is a goddamn death trap kept only because it would be more expensive to take it apart. He doesn't know it killed every recruit to ever step a foot in it. And he's as sentimental as his father was, all wide-eyed at the sight of the machine making up a good portion of your nightmares.

Only Robbie Reyes is a little too much like his uncle, too, because he doesn't. Fucking. Die.

The whole K-Sci department is very excited, of course. The techs aren't. You should've timed yourself better, made sure Canelo and the rest of the old guard were off-shift when you brought Robbie to The Charger. Now they're watching your hands and lowering their voices whenever you step into the hangar. You can't make the problem disappear without someone starting to ask questions. You need to be smarter than that.

If you can't get rid of him, you must learn to control him. He's no Eli Morrow - and you kept a lid on that can of worms for nearly a decade, from boot camp through black ops to TJP. One scowling teenager is nothing. He needs a strong hand and a little misdirection, that's all.

He watches you too, though. Like he already knows. He can't--can he? How? Who would've told him?

That broken eye of his is tripping you up, that's all. A strong hand, and a promise of medical support for the younger one - you will have him asking 'how high' before the next demon is due.

Besides, piloting jaegers is such a dangerous job. Anything could happen out in the sea. You can live through another regrettable loss. You don't think you can live through whatever Robbie Reyes is planning when he looks at you like that.

[x-amount-verbs]

A Helping Hand - Part 30

[start here] || Part 29 || Part 30 || Part 31

[silco x f!reader] [3.4k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [discussion of ptsd] [🙃]

(posting early enough that y’all should have time to read before New Years ^^)

AO3 Link

“Where’s Jinx?” You’re babbling, just to fill the air, as Sevika escorts you to The Last Drop. By now your clothes have been dried, though you’d grimaced at the mess made of your kit. You’ll just have to buy some new gear, that’s all. An expense you’d rather not deal with, but that’s what you get for unintentionally making pastry soup in your waist pack.

“I assume somewhere at the Drop,” Sevika says wryly. “That’s the benefit of early morning asset retrieval: no babysitting duty.” Asset retrieval. Right.

A valid sentiment from her, you suppose, but there’s a hint of anxiety gnawing away in your stomach. You both want to see the kid and dread her finding out what you’ve done. You dread Silco’s response to your behavior. It’s frustrating, and embarrassing, when your mind just hijacked your body and acted completely out of line. Scary, too, if you look at it too closely. The idea that it could happen again, that you’ll lose time, lose control, lose yourself like that… not the most promising prospect.

It could be a blessing or a curse that you won’t have to dread Silco’s reaction much longer, entering the bar.

“Wait here. Gotta report.”

You settle into the same booth you had that drunken night, glancing up at the floor above, to the shadows that hide the door to Silco’s office, as Sevika trudges to go give him the rundown.

What will she say? The girl is crazy. No; she made a mistake. You cringe. She doesn’t owe you that courtesy, and it would be a lie. She lost control and shot a kid. That’s the accurate one. Accidentally. No; without realizing what she was doing. And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?

Teeth pinch at your lip, fingers fidgeting with the rumpled sleeve of your freshly-dried shirt. Before you know it, you’re back to the calming pattern of wedging your thumb nail between the plates of your prosthetic sleeve, tracing up and down your forearm, plucking at hard thin edges. Just enough to tug at your nail bed, just enough to hurt.

Waiting is its own special torture. You can’t stop remembering the last time you were here. The sting, the burn, the ecstasy…

Cheeks flame, throat feeling constricted as you fend off memories of his hands.

You had bruises after that. Nothing horrible, but a subtle ache that brought the memory to mind if you sat on the edge of a seat, or leaned against anything that pressed into a mark. Not a bad pain by any means, but a bittersweet one. More bitter than sweet, all things considered. The regular shimmer taken for your arm made the pain and marks fade quick, but you may have spent a night admiring them. Wanting more.

You’re such a goddamned sucker. Wanting him so much, when you know better.

The brief flutter of hope in your chest as Sevika reappears gets squashed by your own hand as soon as you notice it. If he doesn’t care, you can’t either.

…Fuck, you should know better.

Her walk down the stairs is silent, and you can’t tell if the slight furrow of her brow and thin press of her lips is irritation, confusion, or - knowing Sevika - irritation that she’s confused. There’s not quite enough on her face to read, or maybe she’s not feeling anything strongly enough to show.

Or maybe you’re paranoid and trying to see something that isn’t there.

“…Head on up. He’s waiting.”

He’s waiting. Your mouth goes dry, anxiety gnawing like a mouse on a wire at the base of your skull. Every worst-case-scenario flips through your mind before you shove that list out of your mind and opt to just stop thinking entirely as you walk upstairs to his office door.

A knock.

“Enter.”

How does one word now carry so much promise?

You try to hide your tells, but can’t help the hard swallow after struggling to breathe past the nervous lump in your throat. Hopefully you don’t start choking. That wouldn’t exactly prove your stability. Is proving your stability even possible?

The chair is back. Cheeks flame as everything that had happened in its absence plays on quintuple speed in your head. Palms— then elbows— then your whole burning face pressed to the desk, the desperate need that had snapped inside you. And how he’d satiated that need. The hand on your back as he thrust gloved fingers into you, the presence of him, rocking against you in tiny sinful movements.

You almost feel lightheaded, remembering. Blinks come more rapidly than usual, trying to push the image out of your mind.

Silco isn’t looking at you. Instead, a long finger taps delicately at a paper set before him. It almost feels like mercy, for him to be focused elsewhere. As soon as his eyes start to rise, you panic and drop your gaze to his collar. That tie, a perfect symbol of professionalism and discipline.

Discipline. Oh gods, wrong word.

“…You stayed at the gym overnight.”

It’s an observation, not a question, but you still offer your affirmation. “Yes.” He makes no comment about dropping the honorific. This is more serious than that.

“Why.”

For a fraction of a second you meet his gaze, before looking down again. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper, voice feeling so small. The silence isn’t oppressive, but you can’t help the shame welling up around you. It wasn’t what you meant to happen, you didn’t even realize what was going on before you felt the cold shower shock you to your senses.

“Why didn’t you come here?”

…What?

You don’t even think to hide the surprise on your face as you meet that uneven gaze, flicking between the pale sea and the hellfire glow.

It doesn’t feel quite like hellfire. Whatever it is you’re feeling from him, it’s not rage or heat. There’s something reserved about his demeanor. Subdued. Not gentle, but barely a hint of that authoritative grip; a statue unto himself.

“I…” Why hadn't you? Weakly, you shrug a shoulder. “I can’t answer that.” It’s a frank answer. No lie there; if the choice was conscious, it wasn’t one you remember now. In lieu of certainty, you can’t offer an adequate response.

He’s silent for a long moment. Hands in your lap fidget, but it isn’t the heavy expectant silence of some other meetings. You can almost see him carefully tasting his words, deciding how to approach the conversation.

“What happened?”

“Sevika said she was going to tell yo—”

“I’m asking you.”

Something twinges in your gut. You didn’t think his calm could hurt you so much, and you can’t tell why it does. Maybe you expected to be berated and ripped apart for your mistake; this even-footed respect is disorienting. Maybe it hurts because he can’t seem to meet you so evenly in… other matters.

Maybe you don’t think you deserve his patience.

Most likely, it’s some conflicted mess of all three.

“…I didn’t realize what I was doing.” Only barely loud enough to reach him across the desk. When he has no reaction, you swallow and continue. “The kid pointed a gun at me.” Eyes go blank as you try very hard not to remember it, but you can feel your chest tightening. “And I— shot him.” Breath coming faster.

You cross your arms, digging nails into your bicep, pinching hard, drawing awareness away from the rush of shame and fear and memory. Eyes drop to the desk, and you gnaw at the inside of your lip with one quick bite that’s too hard, immediately breaking skin and making you wince. Doesn’t matter, it’s serving its purpose. You blink away the empty, forcing yourself to continue.

“It wasn’t even a real gun,” the hint of disgust that turns your stomach is audible, brow furrowed. “He was a kid, with a paintball gun, and I shot him.”

He says your name quietly, but firm. Pulling your attention, even if the look you raise to him is pained. “The boy is fine. You didn’t kill him.”

Shaking your head, you focus on your lap once more, posture hunched, like you can somehow protect yourself from your own mess of frustration, revulsion, trepidation. “It’s not about killing him— or shooting him, even, it’s—” You choke on it, but soldier on. “I wasn’t there. I was…”

“You were here. Losing your hand.”

Drawing in a breath, you hold it, nodding stiffly. Again, he’s read your mind. You don’t think to wonder how he knows exactly what you were thinking in that moment.

There’s a silence again, and you just want him to take control. Give you something to do, someone to be, something to feel that isn’t this mess roiling inside you.

When it stretches on too long, you finally give in and look.

The mismatched gaze fixed on you is guarded: calculating, measuring you up. You’re wary of what it might mean, after… everything. But he doesn’t seem angry, or pitying, or stern, or any shade of malevolent, really. Not like he’s about to say you’re too unstable to be armed. He’s just… thoughtful.

Finally, he scoots his chair back and stands. Walking to you with measured steps, he offers his hand. Not for the prosthesis, either; skin for skin.

The burn of your ears seems to radiate heat as you look at his open palm. It feels— too close. After the disastrous way things ended the other day— and no glove. No barrier. No added protection of games and roles to fall into.

Just his hand, open for yours.

“What is this about?” You’re trying to ask more questions now, to keep things clear. This can’t be another moment he’ll just walk back later, leaving you once more alone.

Again, your name.

You want to take his hand. Badly.

“Indulge me. Please.”

It’s the please that does it. A wary glance up at him before you take his hand, heat zinging through you at the way he squeezes your palm as he helps you to your feet. Like a silly little girl with a crush, blush seeping across your chest and up your neck. Fixated on the ghost of calluses on his hand against yours, even if your eyes watch his face.

The hint of self-satisfaction in that hidden smirk makes your eyes narrow. Exactly what kind of plan is this?

For a second, you’re about to ask, before you realize he isn’t leading you away, but rather escorting you around to his side of the desk. Dropping your hand to lift the paper he’d been reading and set it in the corner of this desk. Clearing the center.

Your eyes linger on the empty space, recalling the last time his desk had been cleared.

Silco pulls the chair back, creating a gap plenty big enough for you. He gestures to the surface. “Sit.”

Warily, you hesitate. You said no more games, and this feels like it might be one— but part of you still wants to play. Or at least see what it is.

…You can call it off, if you need to. That’s your decision: see what he wants, and call it off if necessary. With that decided, you take the offered seat.

It’s a strange place, perched on his desk. Too many bad ideas flicker through your head as you settle, even as you beat them back into their hidden places again. (The things you’ve thought about doing on this desk— particularly after last week…)

“Comfortable?” Silco asks, standing with one hand on the back of his chair as he waits for an answer.

You shrug a shoulder, noncommittally.

A raised brow prompts a more satisfactory answer.

“Seems so.” …Okay, maybe you haven’t completely given up making things difficult.

There’s a twitch to his lips, that hidden smirk that flicks a thrum in your chest. In one smooth move, he’s seated, and you shift back as he grasps the edge of the desk to roll himself closer, pressing your knees open as he tucks his legs into the space beneath.

Involuntarily, your back arches for him, hips shifting nervously at how open and vulnerable your position feels. Thank fuck you wear pants nearly every day. At least there’s that consolation.

An appreciative glance rakes over your body regardless, sending heat straight to your core, though the position you’re in prevents you from properly relieving any of that newfound tension. Instead, the instinct to close your legs just presses them against his hands, earning you a knowing look that makes your face flush and eyelids feel heavy.

His eyes drop to your knees, and one hand flattens, his pinky brushing your inner thigh before he seems to think better of it and pulls away.

Once again you struggle to fend off thoughts of his hands roaming your body.

The clear eye closes, a slow intake of breath one of the most transparent tells you’ve ever seen from Silco. Trying to refocus, but on what?

He wheels back just enough to reach for his desk drawer. Suspicion pricks behind your ear, trying to recall anything you've ever seen him pull from the desk, and what drawer they were located in. You’re ticking through options that all feel too much too quickly when he pulls out the odd syringe you’d seen him use with Jinx. There’s a click as he locks one piece into place, then a soft tk tk of his finger flicking the barrel.

As neutral as you try to keep your face, there’s a certain confused notch between your brows. You can’t help but stare at the device, trying to determine how it works, before glancing to Silco’s face again.

There’s a very slight smile on his lips, but it’s more like a grimace. This isn’t something he looks forward to using, obviously. Fair: it looks painful.

The chair rolls between your legs again, and Silco leans back, gesturing with the device. “Like this.” He holds it well above the intended target, making sure to emphasize where the hand holds and where the fulcrum is on the lever, how low you can choke your grip while still being able to activate it. Squeezing the grip makes a click that reminds you of the injector you use for painkillers, and similarly a needle (even if this is much longer) stings out from the canister, a dose of cool-toned shimmer delivered into the air above his cheek rather than his eye.

Silco wipes the liquid from his skin with his other hand, not bothering to find a handkerchief. “Is that clear?”

“You… you want me to-”

He nods, already offering the syringe. When you don’t immediately take it, he pulls your wrist to him to place it there.

You jump at the contact. Anxiety makes your prosthesis tingle, hyper aware of what you should be feeling where his fingers touch you.

“…You’re sure you want-”

The firm way he says your name brokers no argument. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t believe you were capable.”

It shouldn’t steal your breath the way it does. He’d said it to Jinx, when she held his medicine in her hands. I trust you. That’s what this means. More than any I’m sorry, or I was wrong: this is an apology, and so much more.

He pulls the chair even closer, fully invading your space well before he leans back at an angle, watching you with an even stare, hands on the armrests. Ready. Prepared. Trusting.

Your ribs feel crushed, but you try to keep your hands as steady as possible.

“Take a breath,” he advises, voice low. You love that voice, when he speaks for an audience of one. “When you’re ready.”

A breath. Another.

You lean into his space, fully willing to complete the task, but unsure where to place your good hand to brace yourself.

Slim fingers take a gentle hold of your wrist, directing your fingers into his hairline, palm gently pressed against his forehead. The grip on your wrist is enough, but that brief combing hair between your fingers… Heat rushes through you at the contact, and right behind it a thin sparking wire of hurt, remembering the last time you got so close, and how he’d so quickly rejected you, striking right at your weakest points.

And now here he is. Baring his weakness to you, offering you a tool that can strike just as hard.

You look away from your task, examining his face, your own troubled.

“It’s okay.” His reassurance warms the air.

That thing fluttering in your chest won’t shut up. To silence it, you resolutely focus on the assignment, determined to do it right and not hurt him.

Lined up, eye socket in the cradle of the device. Hold your breath.

Click.

Instinctively the hand on his forehead drops to his shoulder, steadying him as he lurches forward, a grimace warping his features. You drop the device back on the desk and quickly steady his head again with the prosthesis. No sorry comes from your lips, because you already knew this would happen— you knew this is supposed to happen, even if seeing him in pain wrenches at your gut.

A trickle of shimmer leaks from the bad eye, and you swipe it away with a ceramic thumb—

A tiny noise of surprise catches in your throat.

Again, you swipe your thumb over the scarred skin. Then your other fingers. The tingling is brief, and settles, but you still feel warmth. You still—

Breath hitches, throat constricting, and you do it again.

You cup his cheek and run the thumb up the valleys of scars, barely brushing against skin. Softer than you’ve been able to achieve until now. Because now…

Tears spring to your eyes, fingers fanning across the scarred half of his face, breath uneven.

“I—” You can’t even find words.

For the first time in over a month, you have a hand again.

Every little divot, every puckered edge of old wounds, the heat of his cheek, the minuscule hairs on those areas left untouched— you feel it all.

There’s no attempt to hide the overwhelming flood that seizes you in its grip. Wonder and relief and bittersweet pain that you’d missed it for so long, all playing out across your face, inches from his. You still stare at his scars, at the ceramic fingers tracing along them— your fingers, finally feeling a part of you.

Flesh hand digs into his shoulder, excitement making you shift on your perch, push closer, reveling in the sensation.

It’s clear this is connected to the shimmer, because not every inch has gained feeling, just the textured finger pads that brushed the medication from his cheek. Realization clicks that that’s why your wrist tingled as well, once he took it with shimmer-touched fingers. Whatever mix he has, whatever specialized formula is in that syringe, that’s the key. Part of you wants to drench the hand in that mix, but you don’t want to let go.

A delicate touch follows the ashen curve beneath his eye, the half-missing eyebrow, then up along one deep scar to finger the start of the distinct light streak in his hair. A short breath breaks from lips parted with amazement at the fine texture freshly available to those fingers. Drawing down the scars again. Back up, in a slow lazy pattern.

Down, up, mapping his fault lines. Worshipping his injuries with your own.

It’s only his sigh of breath that makes you zoom out, to see more than just your fingers caressing skin. His good eye is closed, though there’s a small touch of concern pulling his brows together, just slightly. Lips are tight but not distressed exactly...

Again, it’s an expression you know.

Want.

Need for more, and a refusal to act on that need.

—At least, assuming you’re reading him correctly.

The thing in your chest beats against your rib cage frantically, heart speeding as you consider the choice you’re halfway done making.

Fingers cup his cheek. Ceramic thumb follows those lines again, down to the point where they meet his lip. It brushes across the skin there, running back and forth over lips far softer than you expected, marveling at every little ridge you can feel, how you can suddenly feel his breath hitting skin that no longer exists.

Maybe you didn’t consider this decision at all, because not a single consequence has cemented itself in your mind. Your body acts on its own, bending to close the distance between you. Hardly a fraction of a second of hesitation.

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, to the spot where the scars end, still cupping his face with your ceramic hand. A kiss without kissing.

—

[Happy new year! Feels about time we get some real intimacy y’know? 😏

Anyway, I originally intended to post this Christmas Eve, but then I got in a car crash on the 16th (I’m fine, my car isn’t) and had to deal with all that while my parents were out of town, an underwhelming holiday, followed by a 12-to-24 hour stomach bug the day after getting back to my apartment. Overall, a bit of a mess for the holidays 🥲 Thanks go out to anyone who helped me shoulder the cost of all of that, it really did add up when it comes to the ridiculous price of a cross-state-lines car rental. And also, though they’ll never read this, thanks to my fellow Jewish families that I can rely on to feed me when I’m left alone on Christmas Eve/day 😅 Honestly, I was super lucky to have the friends and family I have, it made all of this mess bearable.

ANYWAY.

I only have like 85-90% of the next chapter written, and I want to find some way to bring it to at least somewhat of a conclusion, since I haven’t been able to write for shit lately, but want to give some degree of closure for loyal readers. We’ll see what I can manage, I guess! But the original intention of posting 29-31 before the end of the year… welp. That apparently isn’t going to happen >< Holiday complications were unexpected. Regardless, I have to do the regular plugs and requests, so; if you liked this chapter, let me know! Comments, reblogs, responses on the ao3 post, etc— and if you want to find more content (reverse POVs you may have missed, art you may not have seen (new art coming soon!), fics from friends, etc) you can find all of that on the story’s masterpost here on tumblr. If you want to be tagged in the next (and potentially last?) chapter of this fic, just comment on this linked post to join the tag list.

I love you all so much, it always thrills me to see people’s reactions, and this has been a bright spot in the mess of the last couple weeks. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie @venommie @sheisacryptid @cuckconnosieur @yew-over-there @zaunite-leo @im-forgetful @rando-compilation @valkyrie05x

[grimparks]

Chapter 3:

Just a Little note to say that because there is a remake of the au, some information in the old chapter are not canon anymore so I have to remake them, anyway enjoy your Christmas gift!

Narrator- the next day as promised, Kyle went to see the guys he knew that could help him and the new guy to actually find Stan and Clyde

Kyle- that should be that house… just hope that he hasn't moved…

*ding*

Kyle- …

???- yes hello…

Kyle- are you uh… The Mole ?

Christophe- WHO GIVES YOU THAT ? Wait … WHAT ARE YOU ?

Narrator- Christophe took his shovel to put the sharp side right under Kyle face in a fast way

Christophe- you’re not a human… either a hybrid…

Christophe- what kind of anomaly are you…

Kyle- I… I don't know ! It just happened one day and pouf!

Christophe- not enough…

Christophe- i want a really answer NOW

Kyle- I’M HERE FOR THE NEW GUY STOP

Christophe- uh ? Pardon ?…

Kyle- stop with your shovel dude ! I’m just some kind of superhuman I don't know ! You're some kind of goddamn WEREWOLF. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ?!

Christophe- pff…

Christophe- I’m not a werewolf dude, I’m a fox, un renard!

Christophe- whatever, you’re right what do you want ?

Kyle- so um… i… the new guy and i need your help to infiltrate the police station, at night, to get some documents…

Christophe- uh uh

Kyle- so ?…

Christophe- why do you want to get there, what kind of paper do you need ?

Kyle- it’s about Stan March and Clyde Donovan disappearing.

Christophe- Okay…

Christophe- so, how much am i paid ?

Kyle- wait what ?!

Christophe- yeah, the new guy helped me one time so it’s okay for me to help her, but not you.

Kyle- i think it’s “they” actually… but, come on… what do you want, how much ?

Christophe- they are okay with anything so shut your mouth…

Christophe- and uh… a package of cigaret

Kyle- that’s all ?

Christophe- yes, you know with the price getting more and more expensive and all that stuff… and my stupid mom doesn't want to buy me those…

Kyle- yeah okay okay I’m going to pay you that

Christophe- yipee

Kyle- anyway, there will be a reunion tomorrow at the new guy home at… uh 10PM. You can come ?

Christophe- uhhhh… je crois, uh, yes i can.

Kyle- awesome!

Christophe- i can’t believe a human can see hybrid that’s incredible

Christophe- mind if i smoke ?

Kyle- um… no it’s okay

Christophe- cool

Christophe- need anything else ?

Kyle- yes actually, do you remember the theater kid that was at my school and who was with Wendy Testaburger ?

Kyle- the one that gave me your card.

Christophe- Oh… that faggot… why do you need him ?

Kyle- well, he was maybe annoying but he was good to create infiltration plan so… yeah

Christophe- i see…

Christophe- yep, i know where that gay ass lives… come on follow me

Kyle- if you have anything else to do that’s okay.

Christophe- dude i was watching a shitty French comedy…

Kyle- oh okay let’s go then!

Narrator- meanwhile all of that the new guy was just doing their usual stuff

Narrator- like robbing a laboratory

*alarm ringing*

Security 1- how haven’t we seen him ?!

Security 2- I don't know man! He just appeared from nowhere !

Security 1- god damn, that guy is fast !

Security 1- what has he stolen ?

Security 2- the last experience of the boss

Security 2- the guy is exiting the building ! GET THEM NOW

New guy- HAHA, see you loser !

Narrator- they broke the window of the building to finish in a little street not so far away.

Security 1- EVERYONE, HE GOT OUT OF THE BUILDING

New guy- HAHAHA, HILARIOUS

New guy- so… what is this…

New guy- oh… shiny, why does that idiot need that ? I mean…

New guy- he’s smart he could create it himself.

New guy- little sus

New guy- oh someone tried to call me… again… Kyle ? Oh yeah, that’s right I’m supposed to search for Stan and Clyde i forgot…

New guy- uh… should call him before or after i go home…

Security 1- not a move…

New guy- hehe, guess I’ll do that after…

New guy- ready to play my dudes ?!

Narrator- Kyle finally arrived to his destination following Christophe during all that time

Kyle- you’re sure it’s here ?

Christophe- sure, nobody have a note under their name that say « incredible actor »

Kyle- you’re right

*ding*

Kyle- …

Kyle- he’s not-

Gregory- greeting ! Who is here WHOA- WHY IN THE WORLD A HUMAN CAN SEE-

Christophe- come on dude, he heard that all day give him a break

Gregory- i uh… my mistake…

Gregory- wait a sec… you’re one of Stan's friends ?! Dude, you know I hate those guys !

Christophe- uh… actually he came to ask for your help…

Gregory- really ?! Interesting… So what do you want ?

Kyle- actually it’s the new guy that sent me here-

Gregory- EVEN BETTER ! So what is it ?! You got my attention.

Kyle- um… you see the new disparition thing ?

Gregory- yes… Stan is finally gone ! Is a good thing !

Kyle- um…

Christophe- i forgot to mention he hates Stan

Kyle- never mind… uh… the new guy needs to find a private case in the police station about uh… someone… and we need YOU to create a plan to break in !

Gregory- um… it must be Pocket… okay I’m in !

Kyle- who’s tha-

Gregory- I’m sure we’re gonna make a great team together !

Christophe- urg…

Kyle- WAIT, who’s Pock-

Gregory- it reminds me of so many great memories!

Gregory- is there a meaning organized ?

Kyle- um… yes tomorrow at 10PM

Gregory- oki… see you too then ! Especially you Christophe, it’s been a while!

Christophe- la ferme abruti

Gregory- i still don’t speak baguette…

Christophe- just go back in, you idiot!

Narrator- let's go see what the new guy is up too while all this is going on

New guy- HAHHAHA, comedy

New guy- where was i… oh yes call Kyle and get my alcohol stock back!

New guy- i really look like my mom uh ?…

New guy- YEAH NO, you’re not looking like that BITCH… hehe…

Narrator- on their way back in town ready to go into all the alcohol shops to buy every bottle of vodka and red wine she actually got a call from Kyle.

*bip*

New guy- yes ? Hello, Euphonie on the phone…

Kyle- hello… yeah i got the two guys i talk to you about into the plan.

New guy- FANTASTIC! Can I know who they are ?

Kyle- i don’t think you know them actually-

New guy- pff- dude, i know everyone in the town! And most people know me from the wanted poster on all other walls !

Kyle- oh then, it’s Gregory Bellarose and Christophe … uh, i don’t know his complete name…

New guy- OH, these two dumb dumb! Interesting… it’s gonna be even more fun…

Kyle- yeah yeah… just do you know someone who is good in computer science to maybe hack into the police station system ?

New guy- i… uh…

New guy- i can try…

Kyle- i thought that maybe Kenny could help us but… his parents have a divorce so i don’t want to disturb him.

New guy- yeah yeah… I can try to call someone but I don't think he can…

Kyle- okay okay… thank you by the way.

New guy- that’s my job dude, don’t worry !

New guy- anyway, i have stuff to do so see you tomorrow !

*bip*

New guy- where was i… oh yeah

New guy- mom stuff…

Narrator- a good hour flew by as the new guy come back home with a lot of all kind of alcohol

New guy- I'M BACK ! HAHA, no one there of course…

New guy- oh i need to call my buddy i forgot…

New guy- beep boop bap

*phone calling sound*

???- hello ?

New guy- hii, how are ya doing ?

???- uh… good and you ?

New guy- Goood, I put the shiny blue sphere in your mailbox as you wanted !

???- wait… YOU’VE TOUCHED IT ???

New guy- calm down… i just looked at it really quick but that's all i swear…

???- Great…

New guy- …

New guy- why…

New guy- why do you need it so bad ?…

???- …

???- you don’t need to know…

New guy- Terrance… we haven’t talked for months and… you just come back out of nowhere for me to get you that…

Terrance- that’s your job, i just… i can’t tell you that

New guy- i guess i don’t deserve to know it then hehe…

Terrance- let’s just say it’s dangerous stuff…

New guy- really…

New guy- i could…

New guy- help you ? Maybe…

Terrance- no… no need

New guy- of course…

New guy- oh ! By the way, I have to ask you something !

New guy- you see the late disparition ? Well I got put on the case and me and my team need yoouuu to maybe hack the police computer system !

New guy- what do you think ?

Terrance- i uh…

Terrance- i can’t

*weird background sound on Terrance side*

Terrance- uh ?

Terrance- where is she ?

New guy- is something wrong ?

New guy- hello ?!

Terrance- uh … i need to go

New guy- Terrance what’s wrong ?!

Terrance- I’m sorry please forgive m-

*cut*

New guy- oh…

Terrance- hello ?!

Terrance- Euphonie ?! You’re here

???- hi you !

End of chapter 3

[wannaeatramyeon]

HEYEYEYE I felt like annoying you but can I request Vin Jin nsfw? :D

HEY KIRA! You can't be annoying, especially considering I answered this like 3 weeks late lol. Hope your exams/studying is going well!

Damn. Let's do some hc shall we.

Vin Jin x Reader: NSFW headcanons (+ a lil romance too)

Selfish and dominant. Really, look at this guy. Were you expecting anything else.

Foreplay? Doesn't know them. Spit and slick and away he goes.

Doesn't have a preference for where he cums. On you, in you. Whatever, as long as he cums.

Loves blow jobs. Absolutely loves the sight of his dick in your mouth, him rutting and hitting the back of your throat.

Returning the favour? Nah. Tired. Maybe later. (Later never cums comes).

Obviously he has a reputation to keep up, people talk. Vin will satisfy enough to not warrant any complaints. The bare minimum. He won't do anything more than that though.

And his attention is pretty fleeting. He doesn't get attached often. He could be ghosting you the next morning, or you could be around for a month or two.

In all likelihood, you may sleep together, nothing for like six months and then a message from him at 11pm 'baby wuu2'.

Sighhhhh. What is it about his cocky attitude and his arrogance that is just irresistable. The fact he keeps his goddamn sunglasses on even in the middle of the night and whilst fucking should be enough of a turn off.

Anyway, at least that's how he treats his casual hookups.

If Vin likes you? Very very different story.

Lets start from the beginning. If he likes you just for your looks, that's easy mode. He's a bit of player, a rising star, and very full of himself. Has no issues with just asking you out (see - Crystal Choi).

But if it's not just a superficial attraction, and he truly likes you, then here comes the schoolboy crusssssssh.

Vin is still Vin. An absolute asshole and relentless. He is very silently soft and simping for you. Tries his best to make you smile, be supportive in his own way, but you're still getting a lot of jokes cracked at your expense.

Mary has to like you too. Otherwise, if she disapproves, then Vin's interest will eventually disappear. She always has his best interests at heart, in a totally healthy and green flag, bff, ride-or-die way. If she suspects anything off with you, and her instincts are pretty spot on, then there is no chance.

Once he gets you into bed. All bravado but a little shy.

Vin wants to make you feel good. He wants his name to be the only one on your lips, and for you to be thinking about him hours, days, YEARS later.

What was that about foreplay? You'll have to teach him your likes and dislikes and be mad patient with him. So much pity for his previous partners for settling for anything less.

Because this guy. Once he gets into it? After some very fun practice? Amazing with his hands, even more so with his tongue. You can't spit bars without being good with your mouth and Vin. Is. GOOD.

It's not his favourite thing to do. Changes his mind when you writhe and moan as he's between your thighs. Huh. It might be the hottest thing he's ever seen and heard.

With actual sex, he tends to still be a little selfish. Some habits are too hard to break out of. And he prefers to go at his pace, which is hard and rough. Though you're not too worried considering that he'll likely make it up to you afterwards.

Has a little thing for degrading you. Expected considering all the shit he talks every day. Otherwise, he can be surprisingly wordless. His grunts and moans are loud though.

And you may have seen him without his sunglasses on, but not yet during sex. Adding an extra layer of vulnerability when he already is so vulnerable? Not his vibe at all.

The thought of that connection? Looking into each other's eyes when he's inside you. It's cheesy and cliched yet Vin can't get it out of his damn mind.

First time that it actually happens? Mindblowing. By far the best orgasm that he's ever had. He finally gets what all those shitty love songs and gross romances are on about. Keeps his sunglasses off from then on, usually.

Aftercare? Good fucking luck he hasn't just turned round and gone straight to sleep. You might get a tissue if you're lucky.

Probe and prod him enough, and you'll at least get some cuddles.

If you really are the type that wants a post-coital embrace? Vin guesses he can do that. You'll need to give him a play-by-play recount though of how amazing he is, how good he's made you feel etc. etc.